


Taste That Your Lips Allow

by drosophilase



Category: Glee RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-20
Updated: 2013-06-20
Packaged: 2017-12-15 13:42:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/850192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drosophilase/pseuds/drosophilase
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Darren and Chris are filming together again.  Set at end of season four filming.  Lots of headcanon and then porn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Taste That Your Lips Allow

**Author's Note:**

> No hard kinks. A little dirty talk.

It wasn’t supposed to be a big deal, not filming with Darren anymore.  They both knew it was coming, had known on some level since the first scripts of season three, and Darren’s two-week leave to perform in How to Succeed was a good dry run.  Even worse than reality, really, because it’s not like they wouldn’t be on the same lot, or in the same trailer area-- they just wouldn’t be on the same sets.  No big deal.  Chris survived the daily grind of filming before Darren and he could definitely do it again.

Until he kind of couldn’t.  Chris smiles tightly, trying not to groan out loud as Lea gives him another over-exuberant laugh that means she didn’t really understand the joke.  Shooting with Dean is even _worse_ because Lea’s worried about Cory being jealous (even when he insisted he wasn’t) so she makes it a point to spend every break hovering over Chris, making it impossible to write.  He tries to think back to season one (he will not think _pre-Darren_ , he will not), but all he can figure is it’s the difference between a huge group of people that love him and just one person that loves him maybe a little _too_ much.  Every day he leaves set and he’s completely drained, half a mind on a phone call he’d never really be able to make.

He doesn’t realize why he’s always so agitated when they’re shooting until he has Darren again.  Darren’s fresh off a plane and they’re filming on location and breaking up in front of probably a hundred fans, but he just can’t seem to care.  It’s like he can take a full breath again, like he loves his job again, like he’s a million times happier and more comfortable even though Darren’s exhausted and all over the place and... Darren.  He’s Darren.  And the simple honest truth is that Chris doesn’t like being without him.

Filming again on the McKinley sets feels like going back in time.  It makes him itchy and unfit for his skin, almost like going back to Clovis feels-- but at least there his bedroom is still _his_.  On these so eerily familiar sets there’s a totally foreign family dynamic that he doesn’t really fit into, unsure of how to relate to so many new people even though it’s been months since Darren introduced them all to him.  He only films for a day, three scenes-- and because Kurt doesn’t belong there, either, standing just off-set with someone spraying his bangs is unshakably strange _._

It was even worse to film without Darren once he knew that was the problem, though Naya, bless her perceptive soul, helped keep Lea off his back when he wanted to be alone.

It’s admittedly easier months later when Kurt’s at McKinley for the second time, a happier script and a cast that he feels a little less like the awkward uncle around and, saving the day just like the first time, Darren.

Darren who steps forward without a single thought as to the lady fussing with his hair and wraps him into a warm hug like they haven’t seen each other in days as opposed to less than 12 hours.  Darren who, in lieu of a greeting, says, “Chris I’m so sorry about Margaret Thatcher,” and actually asks for him to talk about her greatest accomplishments and honestly listens while he recounts him.  Darren who laughs and jokes and touches between takes, who keeps him grounded, keeps his skin on just right.  Darren who can keep him out of his Kurt headspace until the last second before _Action!_ is called and pulls him all the way out once the scene is wrapped.

It had taken a while to convince Darren that even when Chris was prickling with agitation and desperate to get the thoughts out of his head and into sentences, Darren was the only person he wanted around.  The only person he could _stand_ to be around, too, but those two things just happened to coincide.

He and Darren had always, from that very first meeting, just fallen into an easy dynamic, joking in hair and make-up and ending up in deep discussions on the tedious drives to location, laughing between takes and afterwards just sharing space in Darren’s trailer.

At first (Chris told himself) it was him being hospitable towards the new guy, getting to know someone he had heard a strong inkling that he would be spending a lot of time with.  And then it was just... a given.  No one looked for Darren in his own trailer, and half the time they called his cell phone when looking for Chris.  They just _were_ \-- definitely not lovers, more than strictly just friends, something Chris, for once, had no words to describe except maybe... comfortable.  Like Darren was a safety net, a security blanket he could crawl right into without question.

Just... not-lovers, no matter how many times Amber raised her eyebrows, or Lea gave them pointed looks.  Just the best of friends, they always insisted, Chris knew they were just friends until-- one day Darren was suddenly so much _more_.  Darren, snuggled in on a three-hour break before shooting a night scene, with his toes scraping Chris’s thigh and gel in Chris’s mouth every time Darren made him laugh and... there it was.

It’s funny how once he pressed his lips to Darren’s (or, as Darren tells it, he finally let Darren kiss him) everything became simpler, instead of more complicated like he had been so afraid of happening.  Sure it made him more watchful of cameras, more sensitive to rumors, more careful in public.  But when he could still be dancing around Darren and trying desperately to get over the enormous crush he had for the sake of years more working together, instead Chris got endless texts and photos whenever they were apart, glances across rooms that made his skin buzz with anticipation, and the most incredible person he’s ever known to go home to at night.  It wasn’t easy, but then again Chris wasn’t sure any relationship would be easy when his situation was so difficult and delicate and infuriating for anyone to understand.  Except-- Darren understood, he always did.

They mentally prepared as best they could, but it still took longer, when they had to spend so much more time apart than they were used to, to fall back together. It was like being apart roughed up their edges, made it harder to slot into place. Where Chris was drained, Darren was running on a performance high, full of jokes from Chord and Kevin and half-zombie from chronic lack of sleep and pure caffeine running in his veins. They would barely have an hour to escape, sometimes two if they were lucky, and it would take that long to calm down, recenter, balance each other out.

But filming together again-- it’s like old times, when they would get to Paramount at 6 am then spend twelve hours together, only for Darren to invite him back to his house for take-out and _Serenity_ with Joey.  It was effortless for them to spend whole days together, it was something they wanted to do, so they did.

There always were entirely too many days when obligations and work and _business_ tend to get in the way of being together, but since filming started on season four it felt like absolutely everything was in the way of them just being together.  Too many nights Chris would fall restlessly asleep waiting on a _home safe_ text, only to wake up at an ungodly hour to a shifting mattress, warm arms, and curls tickling his nose.  _Couldn’t stay away_ , Darren would mumble as Chris shushed him, stroking his back until finally they could both sleep in peace.

But this, this is eight whole days of filming together, eight work days leaving the house at the same time and walking to set together and pulling their chairs next to each other.  Eight days that Chris needed like oxygen, letting Darren’s smile and Darren’s jokes and Darren’s over-bright enthusiasm remind him why this was the best job in the world.  And just like he knew it would, it works like a charm.

Darren tugs him off set as soon as they’re released, stripping Blaine’s sweater before they have to step out of the air conditioning and draping it over his arm.  Chris takes his hand without question, letting Darren lead him through the maze of buildings and trailers.

He doesn’t even stop to ask, veering towards his trailer buried deep in the back corner of the lot.  They stop to check the parking lot like always, Chris laughing when Darren’s head blocks his view but the coast is clear and they hold hands right up until they slip through the door.

Chris folds Kurt’s vest over a chair and starts working on getting out of Kurt’s millionth pair of form-fitting jeans.  He grimaces, knowing his own wardrobe has gotten progressively tighter as a result.

He’s got his belt undone and pants wiggled past his hips before Darren can even lock the door and undo Blaine’s bow tie.

“Woah there, eager much?”

Chris glares playfully.  “Do you want me naked or not?  Peeling these off could take a while.”

Darren laughs, gentle hand on Chris’s forearm.  “C’mere.”

He lets himself be tugged forward, smiling into the kiss that Darren stretches up on his tiptoes to give him.  Hooking his fingers under Darren’s waistband, he traces over the curve of his ass, the jut of his hipbones, the deep-cut lines he wants to put his mouth on-- meets his hands at the cool metal button and twists sharply to pop it open.

Breaking their kiss, Darren tosses his head back to laugh.

“Fine, fine, taking it off,” he finally concedes, batting Chris’s hands away to undo his own zipper.

Chris _whoop_ s, stripping off Kurt’s tee shirt and shoving down denim, not caring if everything is inside out as he tosses it half-neatly over the chair alongside the vest.

“You know we have to wear these for two more days,” Darren calls helpfully from where he’s taking his time and hanging things up.

Chris sticks out his tongue, flopping onto the couch.  “You know we only have an hour and a half before you have to be back on set.”

“Before _we_ have to be on set,” Darren corrects him with a goofy smile, down to his underwear at last.  “It’s a good thing hair and makeup stopped questioning long ago why my hair needs touch ups before every scene.”

Chris just raises his arms, spreading his thighs so Darren can settle between them.  “Less talking more grinding,” he says petulantly, sticking out his bottom lip.

Groaning, Darren takes the bait-- there’s no way he couldn’t-- leaning down to kiss Chris again and move onto the couch, knees sinking into cushions that crunch as they shift.

“Wait!” Darren says frantically, pulling back and moving away, lifting Chris’s left knee.

“What on earth?” Chris whines, stopping when he sees the slightly crumpled paper in Darren’s hand.  “Really, honey?”

It’s their call sheet from that morning.  “I’m saving them all,” Darren says gleefully and without an ounce of shame, kissing him again firmly before stretching to leave it neatly on the endtable.  “I’m going to make a scrapbook page of the best week of my life.”

“Of course you are,” Chris smiles, craning his neck to kiss at Darren’s collarbone.  “But I would hardly pick this as the best week of your life.”

Darren sits up, straddling Chris’s stomach so that his weight presses heavy on Chris’s hipbones and his ass just barely brushes Chris’s already-straining cock.

“Look at it,” Darren says reverently, sweeping arm encompassing-- the couch? the trailer? the lot?--  “our schedules line up for the first time all season.  This weekend you’re going with me to the best fucking music festival there is, after much convincing.”

“I just like watching you beg,” Chris says demurely, rolling his hips to try and get Darren back on subject.

“ _And,”_ Darren says firmly, pressing down Chris’s wrists where they had been resting beside his ears, making him gasp, “Then I have to come back on Monday, but you’ll be here again.  It’s like a dream come true.”

“Yes, we’re a regular Disney fairy tale, now if you wouldn’t _mind,”_ Chris quips, only half-teasing as he wiggles and arches, working to get his neglected cock on Darren’s skin somewhere.

Darren gets up on his knees and leans down torturously slow, undoing all places of contact with Chris and stretching out, lining up their bodies but not letting them touch.  Chris groans, desperate for what Darren’s not giving him but knowing he’s going to get it, basking in the trust like reinforced steel that holds them together no matter what.

“As you wish,” Darren whispers in his ear as he grinds down fully, hands in Chris’s hair as Chris presses his body up to meet Darren’s.

“That’s not even-- _fuck_ , baby-- that’s not even Disney and you know it,” Chris manages to gasp out, scrabbling at damp skin before settling his hands on the small of Darren’s back, petting down to the stretchy band of his underwear, sneaking his fingertips underneath before stroking back up.

“Artistic license,” he breathes into Chris’s collarbone, teeth already tracing patterns that he drags his tongue over.

The retort on Chris’s tongue is far gone in favor of a low moan, digging his fingers into the yielding flesh of Darren’s ass to get closer, wrinkling his forehead at the hot pleasure that soaks his skin with each drag of Darren’s hard cock against his.

He knows he can come from just this, from nothing more than Darren’s hands petting his skin, mouth sucking every bit of skin he can reach, hips rolling a steady rhythm and sweet friction that makes every tiny shift roll out waves of crackling heat.  But he bites hard on Darren’s shoulder and his thrusts falter, dragging damp cotton over Chris’s trembling stomach, and he just wants to _touch_.

“Off,” Chris mutters into Darren’s skin, nose nudging the slick red spot his mouth just left.  “ _Off,_ take them off,” he insists, hooking his chin over Darren’s shoulder to shove the elastic band down.

“Okay, off, okay,” Darren repeats mindlessly, sweat already dripping down his forehead and rebelliously curling his tortured hairline.  Chris cranes his neck, licking and nipping at the beads of sweat on his jawline as Darren kicks off his own briefs, then taps Chris’s hip so he can strip his, too, taking them down one leg at a time.

“Much better,” Chris says happily, wiggling a little at the kisses Darren presses to the soft inside of his leg, chest twisting up hard when he nuzzles at his inner thigh.

“How long until the beard comes back?” Chris pouts, running his palm over Darren’s frustratingly smooth cheek.

“Not too much longer.  Just a little over eight days,” Darren replies soothingly, settling back down, groaning when his cock nestles onto Chris’s stomach.  “Yeah, this was a great idea baby.”

Chris hums in affirmative, shoving his hips up and capturing Darren’s mouth in a desperate kiss.  With a sharp inhale that cuts through the quiet room, Darren pushes down harder, picking up a rhythm again and nudging Chris’s thigh.  Chris complies, holding Darren’s jaw steady as he wraps both legs so they rest on his lower back.

“It’s a good thing-- _uh_ \-- it’s a good thing your ass is such a convenient shelf,” Chris stutters, half out of his mind with the way the position traps his cock between their stomachs, a soft counterpart to Darren’s hard flesh rubbing insistent against his, making his toes curl.

“If you’re still that coherent I’m not doing my job right,” Darren hisses, digging his hands under to cup Chris’s shoulder blades, give him leverage for unforgiving thrusts.

Chris gets another idea, shifting the thumb keeping Darren’s jaw close to press between his lips instead.  Darren immediately closes his mouth, sucking hard.

“Fuck,” Chris breathes, watching Darren blink slowly, eyes huge.  “ _Fuck,_ Darren.  Here, let me-- let me.”

He pulls his hand back, licking over his own palm methodically, stopping to moan when Darren grabs his wrist and sucks three fingers into his mouth at once.

“Shit you look good with something in your mouth.”  Uncrossing his legs, Chris takes both of their cocks into his wet hand, squeezing as he spreads spit and precome down both their shafts.

He watches, fascinated, as Darren’s stomach caves in, face scrunching up and back bowing.  “Feel good?”

“Fuck, Chris,” he whines, rolling his hips to get more of Chris’s touch.

“What was that?” Chris prompts, running his thumb over the head of Darren’s cock, shivering when it nudges into his own.

 _“Yes,_ god yes, baby it’s so good.  Please don’t stop,” Darren begs, gasping every time Chris drags his hand up their cocks, twisting and squeezing, watching the deep red flesh disappear and reappear in his grip.

“I wish we had--”  Chris only half-forms the statement before Darren is dropping one hand to the floor, leaning over the edge of the couch, Chris still holding both their cocks in his hand but frozen in surprise.

“Darren, what on _earth_?”

He gapes when Darren slaps a bottle of lube into his free hand.  “Why didn’t you come up with that sooner?”

Choking out a laugh, Darren settles back on his forearms, pressing kisses into Chris’s temple and forehead.  “You didn’t ask.  Now where were we?”

Chris slicks up his palm, pulls at Darren’s arm until he shifts and gives Chris his right hand, and Chris lubes that, too, intertwining their fingers.

“Just like this,” Chris says softly, guiding their joined hands down, pressing his moan into the base of Darren’s throat when their cocks line up just right.  “Just like this.”

It takes a few fumbling tries, but something falls into place just like it always seems to when it comes to the two of them, and they get it right, slick fingers tangling and untangling, stroking and pulling and twisting.  It’s perfect, it’s exactly right, rocking and touching and sighing, all in tandem with each other.

“‘M close,” Darren murmurs, running the backs of his fingers over Chris’s cheekbone, making his eyelids flutter.

“It’s okay,” Chris soothes, rubbing his thumb firmly over the ridge of Darren’s cock, finding it just by feel, rocking his hips in tiny thrusts so that his will grind right on the sensitive underside of Darren’s.  “Come for me baby, it’s okay.”

He does, loud whimper that breaks off in a moan the only warning before he thrusts erratically, painting Chris’s stomach and dripping all over his cock, still pressed close together.

Mouthing at the soft part of Darren’s jaw, licking away the salt on his skin, Chris lets him come down, fighting the whine threatening to rise in his throat.  If he could just shift-- just a _little_ bit more--

“You’re so perfect,” Darren praises, honey sweet, raising their slick hands and kissing the back of Chris’s, laying it on his chest.  “Let me take care of you, darling, here.”

One deft twist of his wrist has Chris crying out, clutching at the pillow behind him with his clean hand.  Two more and Chris is coming, body jerking hard and trembling under Darren’s unrelenting touch, head tipped back and lips seeking their counterpart.

“Beautiful, beautiful,” Darren murmurs, careful to put only his clean hand on Chris’s cheek as he gives in gladly, capturing Chris’s lips again, all the fire burned and only gentle reverence left.

Darren finds the feeling in his legs to get a wet washcloth, and they spend the last twenty minutes they can spare naked and touching every place they can find.

Kissing Darren’s shoulder and then resting his chin on it, Chris says, “Seven more days?” and he can feel Darren’s smile against his cheek.

“Seven days plus forever.”  Chris buries his grin in the warm skin of Darren’s neck.


End file.
